


Transference

by Jean Elizabeth (JeanElizabeth)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Blow Jobs, Doctor John Watson, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Paranoia, Pining John, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Schizophrenia, Sex, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:45:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanElizabeth/pseuds/Jean%20Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has been admitted to a mental institution for paranoid schizophrenia. He is assigned to psychologist Doctor John Watson who he inevitably begins a love affair with. John must wrestle with his guilt in putting not only his job, but Sherlock's mental well-being, in danger. Sherlock struggles with his mental disorder while living in a confining and controlling environment. So much angst and pain that can only be dulled one night a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

 

The sour, yellow light of the streetlamps pierced through the grated window. It had been two hours since the orderlies declared 'lights out' and extinguished the florescents in each of the patients rooms. They could only do this after personally checking each space for it's occupant and locking their door. Tucking in the crazies for the night.

Sherlock Holmes paced his small living space, his bare feet chilled by the tile floor. There would be little sleep for him this evening. He swallowed hard and reached for his cup of water. The medication made his throat so dry. Although he would never admit it, he would take the dry throat over the alternative any day. The sound of keys rattling outside his room made Sherlock freeze. No, it wasn't him. The steps were too loud and slow. It was one of the orderlies. By the sound of it, he was not so pleased about working the overnight shift. He grumbled with every slow step. The sound of the keys rattling against his belt was taunting and cruel. It was the sound of freedom. Sherlock eased and continued his pacing once the man had passed his door. _Three minutes_ he thought _until the window of opportunity is closed._ The familiar sense of anxiety and fear began to swell in his stomach. Sherlock fidgeted his pointed shoulders and his head began to tick. He understood his disease and the symptoms that came with it. He knew when to recognize them. However, sometimes they were too powerful to ignore.

Doctor Watson sat at his desk with his laced fingers resting under his nose. Thursday nights use to be a small comfort to him. It used to mean a walk through the quiet corridors by himself in the dead of night. Yes, every now and again a patient would cause trouble or needed to be seen by the doctor on call but more often than not, it was John's opportunity to be by himself without being alone. Back home he was alone, in his flat where he wasn't even allowed a pet. Back home it was so quiet and so blank. Here, at least, peace of mind can be achieved by knowing that while one roams the halls of mental hospital, there are so many people around you just sleeping. People who are so often plagued by the betrayal of their own minds are given peace for hours. That idea comforted Doctor Watson a great deal, knowing the people he was in charge of healing and caring for were capable of peace. Thursday nights used to mean something entirely different from what they did now, then _he_ first arrived.

John glanced at his watch. He better leave now before he got upset. John rose and stretched his arms before gathering his bag and leaving his office, locking the door behind him.

~

It was a frosted February morning when Sherlock Holmes was admitted. There was no snow on the ground but the grass was sharp and stiff like shards of glass. John heard stories of the man who would soon be admitted into his ward. The genius, the troublemaker. None of the other psychologists were too keen on taking him but John didn't mind. After a look at his chart, he was rather intrigued. Sherlock Holmes had been sentenced to the hospital after being convicted of assault charges for beating a cop he thought was an assassin sent to kill him. That may not have been his first run in with the law but it was the one that got him diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

John Watson wasn't sure of what he expected. Maybe a short, desperate genius with proof of his struggle written all over his face in wrinkles. Maybe a man bent in posture, weighed down by the gift of his genius and the curse of his disease. However, when Doctor Watson first laid eyes on Sherlock standing among the others in the cafeteria room he did not expect to see a tall, sophisticated man with pale skin and dark hair. He did not expect to see someone who exuded confidence and intelligence in every small gesture. He did not expect to see a man who looked more like one of his bosses than his patient. Sherlock Holmes did not fit the scenery.

~

John shuffled down the hallway, passing a very sleepy and grumpy orderly. He quickly nodded at the man who returned it with a yawn. John walked as briskly as he could without arousing suspicious from the orderly. Once the footsteps of the orderly faded into the distance, John began to jog until he finally reached to door he was aiming for.

~

Their first one-on-one meeting happened not long after John first spotted him in the cafeteria. John's office was small but cozy. He had a large window encased on either side by bookcases. Sherlock sat on the chair where he assumed all the crazies would sit, given it's inconsistent usage by the same person indicated by the wear on the seat cover and the state of the legs. He crossed his long legs and further observed the room. There were no picture frames at his desk. No family. His diplomas and awards on the wall behind the desk were dusty. He's had this job for a while and isn't particularly cocky about it. The coffee rings stained into the desk were indicative of a caffeine addiction. His desk supplies, pencils, binders, paper clips, were all in perfect order. Not a staple out of place. Perhaps a military man? Sherlock sighed and continued his little game of deductions about his psychologist until he finally decided to show up to their meeting. John Watson shuffled in, apologising for being a few minutes late. Sherlock could tell John was eyeing him with his Doctor's knowledge.  _How will the paranoid schizophrenic handle his tardiness, the crazy who fears being forgotten._ "I'm fine, I can assure you. Stop looking at me like that." John was surprised by the response. He cocked a smile. "So you're Sherlock Holmes" he said drinking from his cup of coffee and sitting down across from Sherlock. "I've heard a lot about you." 

"I'm sure you have. Listen. If you expect me to come here week after week in hopes that you will be able to cure me by having me talk about the childhood trauma of losing my goldfish to a cat or something of the like you best let me go right now. I just want to do my time, not talk about my  _feelings"_ Sherlock spoke the word as if it was poison. John Watson smirked again. "Well that's good to hear seeing as I don't give a rat's ass about your feelings." Now this response shocked Sherlock. He was silent prompting John to continue. "I am here to figure out what is exactly going on with your brain and why it does to you the things it does. That includes you being honest and open with me about your disorder and how it affects you. So I don't care about how you didn't get the bicycle you wanted when you were two, I care about what in your brain makes you think an innocent police officer was plotting to murder you. I care about easing you hallucinations and phobias. Will I have to ask questions about your past? Maybe. But it is for the purpose of making you fit for society again, and that is all. Now. I've hear all about your gift, Sherlock, from so many people yet all I've gotten since I walked in here was lip. So do it."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Prove me wrong. Prove yourself a genius. They keep telling me it will stun me but" John rested his head on his hand nonchalantly "it takes a lot to stun me."

Sherlock Holmes licked his lips. He always loved a challenge. He took a deep breath, and then: "You've been a doctor for almost four years now, got a job here right out medical school according to the state of your diplomas. You aren't close with your family, a feud perhaps? Yes a feud. You've been overseas fighting a war, probably before you decided to be a psychologist, you originally wanted to be a brain surgeon. You skipped breakfast this morning because you were running late all day. Funny how staying up late to watch..... Britian's Got Talent, it would seem, can wear on a person's sleeping schedule. You never knew you mother, did you? If you did, she would have nagged you into the habit of putting the toilet seat down which I can see from here into your office bathroom that you do not do. Probably means you haven't had a girlfriend in a while either, sorry chap. You've gained some weight in the last few months, those trousers are newer but not as new as the growing mass around you abdomen making them too tight. Probably from eating frozen dinners in front of the telly all night. Bad habit, Doctor Watson. Also, you might want to consider a different type of laundry detergent. That's why you're so itchy on the back of your neck. Now tell me, are you stunned?" 

John hadn't moved or changed his expression during Sherlock's stream of deductions. "I am absolutely floored" he said. Sherlock mistook it for sarcasm at first. "You are... brilliant, amazing. It's almost frightening. It is frightening, really. "

"That's most people's reaction, hostile fear of having their darkest thoughts read."

"You aren't reading thoughts, though. You're just observing what they are unintentionally telling you. Or at least that's what I can tell from the process."

"You're absolutely right, Doctor Watson. I believe you are the least moronic person in this looney bin I've met yet." Sherlock shot a grin at John who reciprocated it. 

"We prefer the term mental rehabilitation center but thank you, I guess."

"You've very welcome."

~

Sherlock's ticking ceased as his body froze up again at the sound of two sets of footsteps passing one another. Quick, light steps. It was Doctor Watson. Sherlock quickly changed his posture and demeanor to something more respectable. He already felt ridiculous enough wearing the standard issued pajamas and dressing gown. He listened as John broke into a jog and then reached his door. The sound of the keys jingling, the sound of freedom was just beyond the door. The locks turned and John pushed the door open to slip inside, quietly shutting it behind him again. Sherlock watched as he inhaled deeply after his little covert mission and turned to look at him. Their eyes locked immediately. Sherlock's blue-green eyes seemed to glow in the dark. The illusion was created by the streetlights, John realised, but it did not lessen their magnificence. "Good evening, Doctor Watson." Sherlock spoke breaking the silence with his baritone words. "Good evening, Sherlock" John whispered, still entranced like a mouse looking into the eyes of snake. 

 

 


	2. One of many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psychologist John Watson continues an illicit love affair with his patient Sherlock Holmes. (Mostly angsty exposition, sexy stuff comin' soon I promise)

The pair stood reading one another. This was their sixth meeting in a row on Thursday night and they both knew exactly what it would entail. Sherlock raised his chin while observing his doctor. Other than the obvious, (took a nap a few hours ago in preparation for tonight, had to take the long way to work this morning due to construction, has been trying to diet since his weight was brought up months earlier) Sherlock noticed the dull pain screaming from behind John's eyes.  _Guilt._ The last thing Sherlock wanted to do that evening was have that discussion again. "Did you bring it?" he spoke. John sighed and looked down. 

"You know it's against the rules. I can't keep doing this, it's the ultimate form of favoritism."

"Really? I imagined what we'll inevitably be doing later would be the 'ultimate' form." Sherlock quipped as he stretched out his hand. John closed his eyes before giving in. He reached into his bag and pulled out a tablet. "Here. But don't post any updates, no social media, or anything else to alert anyone you're online."

"You give me this speech every time, Doctor Watson. I'm here because I hear voices that aren't there, not short-term memory loss." Sherlock snatched the device out of John's hand and moved towards the bed, his nose already nearly touching the screen. Finally, a view into the outside world. How many cases has he missed since being incarcerated in this hellish building? His brain had been railing, begging for some sort of challenge. The most satisfaction he could possibly get to calm his insatiable desire for intellectual stimulation was reading newspapers from across the world about local crimes and murders, and solving them with just the words published. He'd been tracking one occurring in the United States that Sherlock solved weeks ago. He was dying to find out if the local police have solved it themselves yet. His long fingers flicked over the screen, pulling up the newspaper's website. "They still haven't figured it out yet, the imbeciles. How on earth has that nation not fallen yet if Detroit's finest can't even comprehend that it was the aunt who killed the step-mother, not the ex wife!"

~ 

John stood by the door in the activity room where most of the patients preferred to spend their time. The meager sources of entertainment were donated by the public mostly. A large, tubular television, stacks and stacks of dusty board games, a messy crafts table, and a wobbly pool table in the center of the space were the main attractions. However, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was curled up, knees to chest in a dingy old chair next to the book cases. He had his face buried in a detective novel by Edgar Allen Poe.  _Great_ John thought _, Let's put some demented ideas in his head._ At that moment, he noticed Sherlock gesture at a pudgy, balding man across the room. The man, one of John's other patients, was Mr. Harrison. He shot up out of his chair and quickly scuttled over towards Sherlock. He leaned in and Sherlock whispered something quickly in his ear. Mr. Harrison's pink, sweaty face was all flustered as he nodded in agreement and bolted towards the door. John was able to catch him by the arm, "Mr. Harrison! Where in the world are you getting off to in such a hurry?"

"The cafeteria!" he said hastily. 

"And why are you jogging there?"

"Because he calls for a tea and I am in charge of getting him the tea."

"Why doesn't he get it himself? Is he using one of your teas of the day?"

"Yes, Doctor Watson, but I don't mind, not at all" Mr. Harrison was trying to pull away to finish his mission. 

"Why would you give up one of your teas to him?"

Mr. Harrison's beady little eyes shot around the room before leaning in to whisper. "He's the messiah-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake-"

"Exactly! I know what you're thinking and I KNOW he is. He was able to know my past, Doctor Watson. He told me things I've never told anyone. And I must do his will and he will heal me." 

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Harrison, we'll talk about this in length later, but in the mean time please don't give away your teas." The man shuffled off ignoring his doctor's words. John looked over to Sherlock who was eyeing him over the brim of his book. Before John could process it or even tell if it really happened, Sherlock gave him a wink and then continued his reading. 

 

"Do you want to tell me why one of my patients thinks you're the son of God?" John said sternly, breaking the silence. The two sat in John's office staring each other down. John had waited two days to speak to Sherlock about this in his one-one-one. 

"Because he can truly see the light." 

"Sherlock-"

"I never told him I was holy, he made that assumption himself. I just elected to not correct him."

"Yeah, well you're going to tell him the truth and apologise for misleading him or you'll have some privileges taken away." John scribbled onto his notebook, "I can't have you walking around turning all my patients into apostles and taking advantage of their mental disorders." John clicked his pen and glared at Sherlock. He swallowed trying to ignore those piercing eyes and monumental cheekbones. Trying to ignore that perfectly shaped cupids bow and how that one curl hugged his ear lobe. "You may be incredibly gifted and highly functioning but you are here for the same reasons they are you will treat them with respect, you understand me?" John did his best to hide his attraction behind anger, but the devil cracked a smile and John was about to fall apart.

"It was a bit funny, John." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help but notice how John licked his lips and furrowed his brow in what could either be extreme irritation or sexual frustration. His tight jaw gave him away and Sherlock was hooked. He smelled danger all over this situation. John's lips twitched at Sherlock's last few words, hiding his own smile. He shifted in his chair to break the tension. "That's Doctor Watson to you. Moving on," he cleared his throat. "Last time we talked about past relationships. You mentioned an abusive relationship you had with..." John flipped through his notes. "Victor Trevor. Care to clarify on how and if that relationship ended?"

"Why? Are you interested?" Sherlock toyed. John dropped his pencil in shock, but found himself thankful for the distraction so that he could move on.

~

Sherlock babbled for minutes about the newspaper subject until finally he asked what he always ended up asking. "Doctor Watson, if you would just let me call their police department. I can leave an anonymous tip and they would have caught a killer and no one would be the wiser-"

"Sherlock, we go through this every time." John said firmly moving to sit next to Sherlock. "I have already betrayed my peers and patients by allowing you the tablet, I'm sure as hell not going to give you a phone. You can use your phone call of the week for it." Sherlock shot him a look. John knew just as well as Sherlock that the detective was required to call his brother during the phone call of the week. John wondered if Mycroft had more of a lock down on Sherlock than the institution did. "Listen, maybe I can work something out with the staff about allowing you an extra phone call but I'd really like to keep the secrets to as low an amount as possible." The stress in John's voice was apparent. Sherlock's aggressive attitude quickly diminished. "I apologise." Sherlock said standing up. John's head snapped up in surprise. "I realise you have gone way out of your comfort zone and risked jeopardizing your career for me." John stood as well and walked closer to Sherlock, resting his head on the man's shoulder. John raised his hands to touch the minor scars on Sherlock's arm. 

~

Sherlock will never forget that one Thursday night. The night he had one of his most vivid episodes. It began innocently enough, an idea. He paced his room considering new technology. How governments and highly organised crime syndicates may have access to such advanced tracking technologies that they would be nearly untraceable. They might even be so advanced that one could easily have impossibly small tracking chips flowing through their blood stream without them even knowing.... Sherlock looked down at the blue veins winding just underneath his white skin like rivers on a map. His heart sped up. They could have gotten into him any number of ways, most likely being airborne.  _No, this is insane. This is exactly why you are here._ And yet he could feel them pulsing through his system, giving away all the most private details of his physical form, compromising his life. What if they could trigger a blood disease that would poison and kill him in seconds? Sherlock began to breath heavily, debating his options and speaking too loudly to himself. His hands tugged as his hair as he looked around the room for anything that could be used as an instrument. Nothing. The panic was growing in his chest. Sherlock started to claw at his own arms, scratching and yelling."They're inside of me! Oh, God They're inside of me!" He fell to the floor just as he began to draw blood. Feeling encouraged, he began to bite his arms, releasing more blood. "GET OUT! GET OUT OF ME!" he screamed as he fell deeper into his hallucination. Footsteps were running towards his location. They were here. Here to get him since he foiled their plan. Three men in matching uniforms came in and rushed him. Sherlock screamed in rage towards them, those who invaded him. They held him down as he screamed out, pulling a syringe from their bags to do God knows what to him. Sherlock managed to wiggle free after kicking one of the goons in his jaw. Sherlock ran to crouch under the window like a cornered panther, teeth exposed and all. The goons walked slowly towards him. Behind them however, the shape of a man appeared that was not one of them. His voice. It was familiar. It was a hope in the distance. His doctor. 

John slid into the door frame after sprinting down to Sherlock's room for a code 9. John Watson had seen a lot of horrific sights in his day as a doctor and a soldier but the image before him then was one of the most disturbing. The angelic and alien creature that was Sherlock Holmes was huddled in a corner, covered in his own blood. The same blood stained nearly every surface in his quarters. The man growled with blood between his teeth like some animal. His eyes were electric. "Sherlock, you need to calm down. Can you hear me?" John hoped his voice was stable and not as shaken as his brain was. It was evident Sherlock heard his voice as his eyes calmed and sought him out. Once they found John, Sherlock begged "Doctor Watson, please, help me! They're trying to kill-" The orderlies rushed Sherlock once again, effectively pinning him. Sherlock kicked and screamed and wailed. "DOCTOR WATSON, HELP ME OH GOD!"

"Get off of him, I can handle this!" John ordered. The orderlies looked back at him in astonishment with the syringe in the tallest one's hand. John fell to his knees and pushed past them. "I said, let him go!" he yelled and they obeyed. Once freed, Sherlock sat up and threw his body at John Watson, who fell backwards but held on just as tightly. "Doctor Watson," Sherlock was out of breath. "They were- were trying to kill me. Thank you." John shot a look at the men who understood the order to leave and call a paramedic. John sat there cooing and rocking Sherlock who was still twitching in his arms. He felt Sherlock's blood seep into his own clothes. Soon the paramedics would hover at the door until John gave them permission to come in and bandage Sherlock up. He wanted to make sure Sherlock was back in reality before anymore men in white clothes came in to tend to him. 

~ 

Sherlock flinched at the feeling of John touching his scars. They were constant reminders of his shame at his inability to control his greatest asset. Still, after that nightmare of a hallucination, he felt a closeness to John that would lead to their affair. Sherlock sensed John's pain from being flinched away from. He turned to face his doctor. "Thank you. For the tablet and for everything." The words felt awkward leaving his mouth, modesty not being Sherlock's strong suit. They sounded just as awkward to John who looked up at him puzzled but pleasantly surprised at his response. "You're... very welcome." He said through a confused smile. Sherlock hated that smile. He sat down the tablet on the in-table and reached up to cup John's face. He hovered so close to his mouth that they could feel each other's breath. Their noses brushed together, Sherlock looked down into his doctor's wild eyes. Finally giving in, John stepped up on his toes to push his mouth into Sherlock's, finally tasting those sculpted lips. He knew he should be feeling that immense guilt at this moment but he also knew it would hit him tenfold tomorrow morning. But right now, his brain was scrambled. Sherlock let his tongue slowly glide across John's bottom lip before taking it into his mouth and sucking softly enough to make his doctor crazy. Hands began to roam and grope. Sherlock pulled John in closer to feel his heart beat against his own. "Happy Thursday, Doctor Watson" Sherlock purred between kisses. 

"John. Call me John."


	3. Heated Locks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More back story on how Sherlock and John began their affair, some Victor Trevor memories, and some sexy sex.

The pair sat across from each other in John's office with stern expressions. The usually unnoticeable ticking of the wall clock was now deafening. John's brow furrowed and a bead of sweat rippled down his forehead. He held his hand hard against his chin, never letting his vision move from Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock sat in his usual chair, lounging with wide eyes. He tilted his head slowly like a curious predator at John's scowl. Sherlock sat up and eased in closer to strengthen the grip of his gaze. His right eye twitched dangerously. John noticed and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest that he hoped was not expressed on his face. Instead, Doctor Watson sat up as well, removing his hand to meet Sherlock's harsh gaze. The two sat inches away from each other, their breath low and steady in concentration and tension. Finally, Sherlock gave in.

"You blinked, I win!" John exclaimed, switching moods and leaning back in his chair victorious. Sherlock's mouth dropped "I did no such thing!" he said offended. 

"You did and you know you did. Now if you're going to make me play these games, you're going to play by your own rules." John asserted. "I won that round so you will answer my question. That's what we agreed on."

 

"And how will you be able to tell if I'm being honest?" Spat Sherlock as he crossed his arms and pouted. 

"Because you gave me your word you would" John said raising his eyebrows at him. "Now, my question." John looked down at his notebook. He could ask any question he had written down that would help him better understand Sherlock, but one question he found himself more interested in than the others for all the wrong reasons. Still, it had to be asked and it served a purpose to his mental health. John winced. He knew in context of his feelings towards Sherlock it was entirely inappropriate but no one knew about the context. 

Except of course, Sherlock. He could read it all over John's face. Really, how stupid was he that he thought he was being secretive.  _He acts as though he's not telling me everything right in front of my face right now, at this very moment!_ Sherlock saw as clear as day the struggle on John's face. The weighing between personal and professional and how far he was willing to risk it. Sherlock was getting bored watching him trying to decide and the scabs on his arms were getting irritated. It was time for a new bandage "Out with it, Doctor. I haven't got all day. I've got macaroni art to create." Sherlock attempted to joke. John gave a half-assed smile but his eyes had given in and made his decision. "Tell me about your relationship with Victor Trevor." John spoke softly. Sherlock closed his eyes. He should have guessed as much. 

"I met him years ago after a case. He was dealing smack for a drug lord I ended up bringing down. Needless to say, he was pretty upset so he hunted me down after I put him out of work. He broke into my flat with a switch blade. I heard him in the other room. This was before my hallucinations began so I was sure it was reality. I knew he would come to my bedroom so I prepared myself with a blade I had on my in table. He eased into my bedroom like a monster in the dark. I pretended to sleep on my stomach. He went to wrench me over and in a flash we both had our blades at each other's necks. I could tell he hadn't had his fix for a few days and was nearing withdraw. He heaved over me, teeth baring and eyes on fire. He was confused at my smile. I turned him over to claim my position on top of him, knives still dangerously close to arteries. I said I was calling the police and moved to go for my mobile but he pressed his blade closer to my skin. 'And ruin this beautiful moment?' he whispered. I looked back down at him, and was given away by licking my lips. He was so rugged and dangerous. He slowly moved his blade from my neck to the bottom of my shirt. He sliced it in half until his knife met my neck again. I felt the pressure of my arousal against his dirty jeans. That was the first time we had sexual relations with weapons drawn on one another." Sherlock pulled himself out of his memory to look at Doctor Watson who was listening intently with is legs suspiciously crossed. Sherlock noted the position with a mental smile but returned to his story. "He had moved in with me days later and began creating and dealing smack out of my flat. I used on occasion but over the next year as my mental illness began to make itself known I used more and more often trying to escape it. Victor became increasingly violent. It started when I came home from a case late. That was the first time we fought and he knocked me out with a lamp. I woke up the next day with blood caked into my hair but the makeup sex was phenomenal. That was my life for three years. Drugs, mental illness, kinky sex, and broken bones. And I loved it. I deserved the pain. However his violence was growing more and more insatiable. I was not enough... He started off by sleeping around and hurting his lovers. Eventually he killed one." Sherlock paused. "A twenty year old uni student. She was studying to be a doctor. He got a taste for it and killed more. I was in a relationship with the very essence of my nemesis, what I had always tried to defeat. The detectives asked me to investigate the murders of these people. I played along, pretending I didn't know from the very start. I followed clues knowing exactly where they would lead. I caught him just before another murder and he turned his gun on me. I knew he would kill me in that alley, with that young man crying at his feet. I pulled my trigger first and gunned him down. The police let me off on self defense. That was three years ago to the day last Monday." Sherlock looked up at John, meeting his gaze. "Does that help you figure out my brain at all?"

John realized where he was. He was so absorbed in the story he let his expression twist into one of horror. He quickly snapped back into doctor mode. "Yes. I think it's clear you may be having a harder time with your condition of deciphering between hallucinations and reality due to the very dangerous and exciting lifestyle you lead." John scribbled onto his notebook and without looking up, lowered his voice and allowing himself the last question. "Were you in love?"

Sherlock brought his fingertips to his nose. "The words were never said." John watched as Sherlock closed his eyes as they began to brim red. He looked like a man in deep concentration. The tear streaming down his cheek was foreign. He wasn't trembling and his chin didn't quiver, yet tears glided down his porcelain face. John's heart sunk. He was so terrifyingly beautiful in his immense sadness, like the angel over a tombstone. John reached out to touch Sherlock's cheek, knowing full well his touch was not that of a doctor. He pushed the nagging of his conscience to the back of his brain. Sherlock's eyes opened, revealing the vivid colours swimming in his iris. John's hand trembled at the feeling of Sherlock's cool flesh under his palm. Sherlock brought his hand up to John's. He breathed a jagged breath and reached his other hand out to John's shoulder. John crawled out of his chair to kneel in front of Sherlock who was holding onto his shoulder as his body rocked, holding in his rage and pain. John's shoulder was strong under his long fingers. He let his head drop as an angry grunt rolled out of his chest. He was mad at himself for his vulnerability in front of his doctor. 

John rested his forehead on Sherlock's, cooing and rubbing his thumb along his cheek. "I know you're angry," he whispered "I know you're hurt and scared. You're okay right now. I've got you." Sherlock slid down to meet John on the ground, resting his head on his doctor's shoulder, letting John embrace him. He felt Sherlock's spine as he rubbed his hunched over back. This was instinct to John, to hold this fragile yet fierce and dangerous creature. It was _natural_ for him to whisper calming words into his ear. It was natural for him support his weary head with a hand in Sherlock's curls. And it was natural for his lips to meet Sherlock's when their faces turned towards each other. 

It was a soft, moist kiss meant to soothe but John felt the gasoline hit the fire in his chest. Finally, the sweet taste of this enigma of a man was his to experience. To Sherlock it was a breath of air to drained lungs. He returned the kiss with more vigor, hungry for the life it was bringing him back to. Hands began to grasp at shoulders, hair, and faces. The kiss, an endearingly soft touch of lips and tongues, was causing John's insides to ache. He moved his lips to the nape of Sherlock's neck. He had been eyeing that spot for sometime now, the pale, supple skin that stretched across his collar bone. At first, Sherlock flinched away from the kiss out of instinct. His last lover could not be trusted with something so vulnerable. But now...

Sherlock let his head fall back to give John more access to his neck and shoulders. John let out a barely audible moan at the feeling of the smooth skin under his lips. He kissed and taste Sherlock with the delicacy of a man paying homage to a holy relic. John's arousal could not be hidden any longer. 

Sherlock, in a state of dizzy ecstasy, reached down to let his fingers curl around the shape of John's erection. John hitched his hips at the unexpected but mind numbing touch. His moan more audible this time.  

All too quickly, John tore himself from the embrace to land on his arse five feet away from Sherlock. He was breathing heavily and eyeing Sherlock with a look of pain. He wiped at his chin. Sherlock didn't move, feeling ripped apart from the sudden switch of moods. John was getting up of the ground. "Fuck..." he muttered as his face began to twist. "I'm a fucking monster." John pulled at his hair as he went to sit at his desk. "Jesus..." he whimpered. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I took... I took advantage and... Fuck I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen, I wasn't thinking." Sherlock stood up, limbs stunned and unsure of what to do next. "I don't want you to be sorry." Sherlock whispered. "I wanted that, all of that. I-" how despicable he must have sounded, he wanted to throw up his walls and turn to ice. "I still do."

"Sherlock, you're sick. You don't know what you want." John said with his hands covering his face. The words hit him like an arrow and wounded him. John caught on from the silence. He lowered his hands to see the damage his words had done but it was too late. Sherlock had turned to ice already. His features were calm and unassuming. He straightened his clothes and began to walk towards the door with an erect back. "Sherlock, I didn't mean-"

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson" he snapped. John thought he saw something in his eyes for a split second but it was gone an replaced with the cold nothingness he was used to. Sherlock walked out the door with his head held high but his heart sunken and beaten.

~

Sherlock and John froze in each others arms at the sound of the orderly walking past again. Forgotten something. When he finally left, John sighed heavily and sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed. Sherlock was pained at seeing him so stressed and torn. In another world, in another universe perhaps Sherlock could give John the life he deserved, but not here. Not now. No, here all Sherlock could offer him was companionship in secret. The sad idea swept through his brain once more. Sherlock had been mulling over a thought for some time now, but tonight was not the night. Tonight was not the night for responsibility.  While Sherlock could manage to ignore his conscience, he only knew of one way to ease John of the burden of his. 

Sherlock rested his hands on John's knees and knelt down before him. He slid his hands down John's thighs to finally converge and work together to open his trousers. 

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up, John."

With that John smirked and gently caressed Sherlock's face before lying on his back. Sherlock pulled his trousers off revealing his plump erection fighting against the cotton of his pants. Sherlock moved his hand to cup John, feeling the warmth of his arousal. John made a noise which in turned encouraged Sherlock to tease him further. He let his fingertips glide slowly on top of his pants, just barely making contact. John's thighs quivered, much to Sherlock's enjoyment. Sherlock toyed with the band of his pants before slipping his hand in to hover above John's dick. John bucked his hips to make contact with Sherlock's hand. He held John in one hand while pulling the pants off with the other. Sherlock began to stroke excruciatingly slow. He loved this part, where he could examine and admire John's thick masculinity. The thin flesh moving with his hand gave him control over the doctor. Sherlock's own erection was growing as he affected John in such a way. The soft, sculpted head of John's dick was flush and plump. Sherlock wanted to take it and trace the inside of his lips with it at that very moment, but stopped himself so he could drag this out. Instead, Sherlock kissed around John's navel, hair tickling his nose. He made his way down until he reached the base of John's towering dick. Sherlock licked the length of it, feeling John gasp and shudder at the sudden sensation. "Fuck..." he moaned. He began to lick again but suddenly took all of John into his mouth, much to John's own surprise. Sherlock grasped at the base of John's cock and moved his hand in sync with his mouth. John's eyes rolled back into his head. The feeling of this angels warm, wet mouth, the texture of his brilliant tongue was driving him mad. His hand ran down to gently grasp Sherlock's curls as he bobbed up and down on him. 

Sherlock knew John's body well enough by now to tell when he was starting to get close to cumming. Sherlock stopped abruptly much to John's dismay. He laid there helpless and writhing with want. "Sherlock-" he whispered with heavy breath. Sherlock stood up too loom over him. "Do you want to fuck me, John?" his spoke in the lowest voice.

"God, yes." 

Sherlock peeled off his top, revealing the smooth skin and bony torso underneath. He was too skinny, noted John, but frighteningly gorgeous. He undid he trousers and they fell to the floor leaving the living statue that was Sherlock Holmes in his pants in the lights from the street lamps. John could only stare for a moment at the figure before him. He felt a pang of self-consciousnesses looking at Sherlock compared to his own pudgy, middle aged body. His eyes flickered up to meet Sherlock's asking for permission to explore him. Sherlock nodded.

John started with his long, lost love: Sherlock's collar bone. He traced them over with his fingers and lips. John's hands flowed down over Sherlock's shoulders and arms, feeling the strength in the biceps and admiring their immaculate contour. He lingered over the scars on his forearms before inspecting his hands, finger by finger, kissing each one. John returned to Sherlock's chest to kiss while his travelling hands discovered his rippling rib bones and finally his hips. He felt as thought his hands were made to rest on these hips. Next came his thighs, which John nibbled lovingly while he touched Sherlock's calf muscles and the eventually his long feet. John moved to rest his head on Sherlock's stomach standing before him while he slipped his hands under Sherlock's pants to grasp at the firm arse that had been the fuel for many a wet dream. "You are the most beautiful goddamn creature in the universe, I swear to god." John said into Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock smirked and held John's head there. "You have such a way with hyperbole." He said sarcastically while reaching to grab the lube tucked into John's bag. He set the lube on the bed before instructing John to lie down. "It's my turn to inspect you, Doctor" he said climbing on top of him. John fidgeted. Something that might have gone unnoticed by anyone other than Sherlock. "What's wrong?" 

"It's nothing."

"Don't lie to me, John."

Doctor Watson sighed, feeling ashamed of his own shame. "It's just that- Well you're just so amazingly, stupidly gorgeous and young. But I'm... not. I'm old and tubby and sagging. I guess I just feel... insecure with you exploring me like I did you. I don't think you would enjoy it nearly as-"

"For the love of God, shut up." John was silent looking up at Sherlock, who spoke with venom in his voice "If you're going to make me say it, fine. You are... so very manly, John Watson. And I am so very gay. I day dream about your broad shoulders and your stern looks. I yearn to lay my head against your strong chest and be wrapped in your strong arms. I want to spend an entire day listening to your body and organs work under my ear. I want my scratch marks down your back and your muscular thighs smacking against my arse. I cum to the thought of you cumming to the thought of me. You are literally the only man on this earth that I want to be inside of me so if you would please stop talking such nonsense and fuck me until I come undone." John was torn between feeling insulted due his harsh tone or touched and ravenously horny due to his words. He decided on the latter and flipped Sherlock to be lying under him on his stomach. "Finally" he said into the pillow. "Shut up" John spoke pouring the lube onto his hand. Sherlock turned to shoot him a playful look. John returned it, thinking how insanely sexy he looked staring up at him with his arse shoved up into the air. John began to prepare Sherlock's body with the lube. After applying it to his own cock, John leaned over Sherlock to kiss his shoulders. "You ready?" he whispered against skin. 

"Yes."

John eased himself into Sherlock, feeling him shudder around his cock. "Tell me if you want me to stop." John whispered as he began to oh so slowly move in and out of him. Sherlock whimpered in response. John wrapped his arms around his lovers waist, and rested his head on his shoulder blades. Sherlock would jerk and shiver from the sensations in his body at the feeling of John's strong, thick dick inside of him. He began to whimper, begging John for more. John went a little bit faster, tightening his grip around Sherlock. God, did he feel amazing. So tight and warm and receptive. In those moments John felt like he could do this forever, that he never wanted it to end. Sherlock moved his hips back into John.  _More_ he was telling him. John picked up his speed significantly and Sherlock let out a loud moan. "Shhhh" whispered John into his flesh, making himself care if they were being too loud. It was too easy to get lost in his body and mannerisms. To let him do whatever the hell he wanted as long as he was John's. As long as he was reacting to John.  He pulled out, much to Sherlock's protest. "Turn over, I want to see you." he said in a scruffy voice. "I want to watch you cum because of me. I want to see you become mine." Sherlock did as told, with his cock so hard it was almost painful. John lifted up Sherlock's legs and re-entered him, all the while keeping harsh eye contact. John reached down to stroke Sherlock in time with John's thrusts. Sherlock arched his back a the feeling. "John..." he moan. John went faster. "Kiss me" Sherlock demanded and he complied with a hard, hungry kiss. John was close, too close. He tried to hold himself together the best he could. He picked up the pace on Sherlock's cock, stroking and thrusting into him. "Fuck, Sherlock" he said through heavy breath. "You're so fucking brilliant. I want you to cum for me, okay?" Sherlock's eyes rolled back into his head with John's words. "That's it, cum for me you beautiful fucker. Jesus-" John ignored his own tremors pulsing through his groin.  

Sherlock was on the brink of total annihilation. His whole body was convulsing from pleasure and he was losing himself, his coherency and thought, in the exhilaration of being on the edge of a massive orgasm.  _Better than drugs_ he managed to form the thought from the repetitive  _John Watson_ that was floating in his brain, draining every single thing in the world out. He felt John thrust hard and his hand move fast around his cock. He wanted this moment of tension before the cum to last forever. Then all at once his body lurched and his hips bucked in every which way as an immense wave of pleasure washed over him. "JOHN-" he moaned as he came onto his stomach, body quivering. John fucked his arse the whole way through, making it last as long as it could. Sherlock's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he finally came down, feeling drained and light headed but held together by John Watson.  _John Watson, John Watson, John Watson._

John's eyes flickered over the limp, spent man in front of him, never slowing in his thrusts.  _I did this._ The sight of him was all John needed. He bent down to meet Sherlock's lips, his cum sealing them together. He stopped fighting the urge and released himself into Sherlock while kissing him deeply. John moaned against his mouth. After, he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, still submerged inside of him. He was out of breath, heaving. Sherlock was coming back from his incoherent bliss. "John..." he whispered. 

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Thank  _you"_ he swallowed hard before continuing his labored breathing. 

"Maybe you are getting old" Sherlock joked. John pretended to punch him in his side without moving his body. His cock slipped out of Sherlock as he began to soften. He sat up on his arms to look at him once he caught his breath.

"I'm going to be filled with self loathing tomorrow but I'm so glad we did this."

"Me too." Sherlock grinned up at him. While John liked the cheeky, sarcastic brat that was often Sherlock Holmes, he also enjoyed these moments of intimacy and honesty. John felt a swell in his chest looking down at him. He was feeling rather brave after sex. 

"I want you to know that I care about you, Sherlock." he spoke, trying to read Sherlock's face. "That this means... a lot to me. Not just mindless fuckery."

Sherlock was silent and the grin left from his face. John was anxious but the swelling in his chest was more powerful than his fears. 

"I guess I just want to-, I want to make sure these words are said" John whispered alluding to the story told before their first kiss. He swallowed and Sherlock's eyes were hard and unmoving from his own.

 "I love you."

The silence was palpable. Sherlock was stiff beneath them. The seamen between them was beginning to crack. John felt a knot in his stomach. "B-but I don't expect you to say it back right now," he said trying to save face. "I understand that's a lot to put on you, and it may even be worse than if we were just- What I'm trying to say is, it doesn't change anything. I just wanted- I just didn't"

"John-"

"I know our sex life isn't as exciting, we don't have weapons but I thought that-"

"John-" Sherlock's heart broke. This was going to make it all the harder for him to do the right thing for his doctor. To take responsibility. The thought that he had been mulling over, that he elected to ignore tonight, the thought of breaking up with John Watson despite his own heart and for the sake of John's sanity and conscience, just got a whole lot harder to think about. Does he tell him the truth now about his feelings making it painful or impossible to break it off? Or does he stay silent and let's join suffer in seemingly unrequited love and lose him now? No matter what he did, he could not save Doctor John Watson from heartache.

John's face had already grown stern. He got up from the bed without saying anything and walked towards small half bathroom to rinse himself off. Sherlock didn't move. He stared at the ceiling, face blank but mind racing. John came back out again and reached for his pants. "I should go."

"No." Sherlock snapped his head to look at John." I mean- please stay longer. Please lay with me for just a while longer."

John stared at Sherlock with an obvious broken heart. Sherlock could see his internal struggle. Finally he sighed and pulled down his pants again to crawl back into the warm bed of Sherlock Holmes. "Just an hour" he whispered, laying stiff next to him. Both made a point not to touch at first, but after a back and forth of giving a little bit of ground, they were fully embraced in one another once the hour had passed, and fast asleep.   


	4. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of story, lots of angst.

John was hiding. Was there really any other way to put it? Usually on Sundays he would be out in the common area with his patients, watching over them and talking with them. But no, he was in his office pretending he had paperwork to review. Truth was, he couldn't handle the presence of Sherlock always in his peripheral vision. He was always standing out from the crowd and John couldn't help but look at him. And he was always looking back with that questioning, evaluating face. John knew he was trying to deduce his emotions but could he honestly be shocked at his behavior? Was he really so oblivious to human nature that he couldn't understand why John might want to avoid him? _He's mentally ill, do you think he can understand the nature of your relationship you massive predator?_  John allowed himself to rest his head on his desk. He didn't sleep much last night or the night before. He had an appointment with a patient named Ian Rosdower in a couple hours. That's what he needs to focus on, his patients. Maybe he could be a good doctor again. 

John's thoughts were interrupted by a knocking at the door. He shot up in his chair and called out for the knocker to enter his office. A nurse popped her head in. "Doctor Watson, one of your patients has asked to see you if you weren't particularly busy. Can I send him in?" 

"Yes, Charlotte. Thank you." Ian Rosdower had a penchant of showing up early, John noted as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He raised his head to see it wasn't Ian but Sherlock who entered the room. John's heart sank and he hoped it was unnoticeable to Charlotte. Sherlock thanked her and she left, leaving the pair staring at each other. Finally, John spoke. "Well, what can I do for you, Sherlock?"

He raised an eyebrow at John's tone. He was using his doctor voice on him. "You've been avoiding me."

John scoffed. "I've been busy, Sherlock." He toyed with the papers on his desk.

"Is it because I didn't respond when you said you loved me Thursday night?"

John dropped his papers and laughed sarcastically. Christ, he was so blunt. "I really am busy so unless you need something I'll see you Tuesday-"

"I want to talk to you. I want to tell you the truth as all my other options are... unacceptable."

John eyed him, the tone of his voice frightening him. He gestured for Sherlock to sit down across from him and so he did.

"John, I-" He sighed. "I am fully aware of the constant battle you are having with yourself in regards to your relationship with me. I see how it tears you apart. I also am aware of how you perceive  me as your patient. You think since I am mentally ill, that you are taking advantage of someone who is not within their right mind to give consent, despite my telling you am I. After all, I am sick and don't know what I want or what is good for me." His tone turned sarcastic before softening. "Regardless, I cannot change your moral compass or how you view me. Therefore I cannot help ease your mind concerning us. I was going to end it. That was my plan, anyways, until you had to go and complicate everything by proclaiming your love. Put me in rather a difficult position. I could break your heart then or I could demolish it later. I chose the former and the results have been less than satisfactory. So, the decision is up to you. We can continue this affair only if you can come to terms with it because I won't watch you struggle over me. Or you can chose to break it off. "

John swallowed. A wave of shame washed over him for letting it come to this. He knew what he should say, what anyone would say. He looked up at the ceiling and grumbled trying to hold back his turmoil. He could feel Sherlock's sad eyes evaluating him again. He knew what he should say, what he was going to say, even though everything inside of him wanted not to say it. "I think it best if we stopped." He said lowly. "It's too dangerous and- well there are so many reasons."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me, Doctor Watson." John noticed the change to formalities. No more 'John'. "I would like to request to be assigned to another doctor, then."

John nodded. "Of course." He whispered.

Sherlock stood up, turned to ice. "I don't see the need to tell anyone. So, best we forget the entire thing." 

John flinched at this. He could only nod, not looking him in the eye. Sherlock turned and walked towards the door. He lingered there for a second before vanishing into the hallway. 

John laid his head back onto his desk and let himself weep. 

 

 

Sherlock sat in an office filled to the brim with colourful plastic flowers and office supplies. A man with strawberry blonde hair and an artificial tan sat across from him with a ridiculously large grin on his face. "Well as you probably already know, my name is Doctor Aaron Raymond but you can call me Aaron! I am so excited to have you here with me today, Mr. Holmes. I hope you don't mind if I call you Sherlock. I prefer to keep things pretty informal in our weekly convos. I don't want you to think of me so much as a 'doctor' " he made the universal sign of quotation marks with his two fingers on each hand at the word "so much as a 'mental health buddy' " the quotation gesture was even more exaggerated. "I always like to get things started with a little ice breaker just to get more comfortable but first I just want to say that-" he reached to lay his hand on top of Sherlock's "the road to recovery and health may be long but you will not be walking it alone. I am here for you and will be not only your doctor but your friend." Sherlock stared down at his hand ontop of his before looking back up at him like he was he devil. 

"You live alone with two cats, one black and one grey. You are the newest doctor here and you are frightened by your lack of experience, as am I. Your new age methods are questionable yet harmless but also incredibly juvenile. You have a secret tattoo you are too embarrassed to talk about, probably of something like a dolphin. You go out drinking at the same bar every weekend but never talk to anyone other than the two other people you go out with. Your new diet isn't working and that facial cream is not worth what your paying for it. You will likely never win the lottery so stop trying and the person you've been seeing for the last three months is cheating on you." 

Doctor Aaron Raymond sat in stunned silence, a stupid smile still on his face. They sat there for a full minute before Raymond spoke. "Well, I'll see you next week then." he said with his usual peppy cadence and tone. 

 

 

"I have one more thing to tell you before I go, Doctor Watson." Mr. Harrison fidgeted in his seat. He could sense their time coming to a close. 

"What's on your mind, Mr. Harrison?" John said trying to repress a yawn as he clicked his pen. 

"You remember that whole incident with Mr. Holmes,"

John's jaw clenched and he swallowed. "Yes, I do."

"Well, after he told me he wasn't the messiah I was pretty angry as you also recall, mostly because of all the tea I gave up. He didn't seem to care but that's his M.O. But the other day the strangest thing happened." Mr. Harrison wringed his hands together. "He walks over to me, says nothing, hands me a cuppa, and walks away. And he's been doing it every day since!"

John was already looking down at his notepad while Mr. Harrison was speaking. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Perhaps he is trying to make it up to you."

"I imagine so but it doesn't seem like him. Honestly, he seemed like sort of a prick, even when I thought he was the messiah."

John chuckled. "I'm glad to hear you're making amends. I'll see you later, Mr. Harrison."

The pudgy man got up to shake John's hand and left. John didn't move. He hadn't seen Sherlock in weeks. He wondered if he had transferred institutions without John knowing but he figured word would have gotten around. No, Sherlock was just very good at hiding as well. 

 

It was movie night and all the patients gathered around a sheet hung from a window to watch  _The Graduate_ projected onto it. John sat on a stool in the back of the room. He came in halfway through the movie. His eyes scanned the backs of heads and the sides of faces, watching lights flicker over them as they were absorbed into the film. He noticed a familiar head of dark curls peeking over the top of a chair. John's heart skipped. He never came to these kinds of events. He considered leaving but never managed to make himself stand up. The movie was over before he knew it, losing track of time watching Sherlock react to the film in his subtle ways. Probably dissecting it, going crazy not having anyone to talk to about the continuity errors and such. The lights came on and John jumped. Sherlock stood with the others and turned towards the door but froze when he saw John sitting in the back. They stared at each other, masses of people moving around them. Sherlock nodded once and John returned it. John finally managed to make himself get up. He turned and walked down the hallway away from the common area towards his office. The impulse to look back got the better of him and he turned to see Sherlock still looking after him. John didn't sleep that night. 

Sherlock didn't either. 

Weeks passed and John couldn't shake the numb pain in his chest that became sharp at the sight of him. Memories haunted him. He didn't take walks on Thursdays anymore because he couldn't bear walking by his room. 

Sherlock wondered if they ever found the killer in Detroit. He wondered what John was doing. 

John had to leave the room when Doctor Raymond talked about his strange new patient.

Sherlock and Mr. Harrison started recommending books to each other and part of Sherlock hoped John would hear about it. 

He did. 

John tried to touch himself in the solitude of his flat but the only images in his mind were a slender body and a baritone voice. He felt sick. 

Sherlock started covering his scars and forgetting his medication. 

 

It was getting to be that time of year when the harvest decorations came down and the Christmas and Hanukkah decorations went up. Sherlock was curled up in a blanket in a chair in the corner of the common room while the others tended the tree. They were making a fuss about how it was a real tree this year. He rolled his eyes. Only one more year to go before he was a free man. 

John was in his office writing Christmas cards to family members he hadn't seen in years. 

Sherlock noticed something strange in the corner of the room. An orderly was texting on his phone and looked up at Sherlock, who adverted his eyes. He was planning something. Sherlock glanced to another one who left the room.  _Where the hell is he going?_ Sherlock shifted. It meant nothing he was probably going to the bathroom. Sherlock looked up to the first orderly who was staring off into space. Sherlock felt the anxiety swell in his stomach. He was planning something. They knew he was on to them. The other one went to get reinforcements. They were going to make their move. This entire time they were filling him up with poison instead of medicine, he knew it. They had him captive and were poisoning him! 

Doctors and nurses ran past John's room. His eyebrows furrowed, wondering if he should inspect the situation or not. He began to hear screaming coming from the common room. They were probably going to need all the help they could get. John ran down the corridor to find Sherlock with a pair of scissors in his bloody hands, screaming at those who surrounded him with their palms held up. "What did you put in me?!" he shouted. "I know what you've been doing! You are all liars, you're working for them!" A couple nursed tried to approach him but he flipped a table to act as a barricade. Sherlock pulled the old TV off it's table to smash onto the floor. He used the table to get on top of the book case, getting higher ground. He rubbed his face, getting it dirty with blood mixing with his tears. John blinked as the ground seemed to move under his feet. The sight of Sherlock wailing again, at his other patients cowering in the corner and his co-workers cornering him. It was too much. 

"WHAT DID YOU PUT IN ME?! I NEED IT OUT!" Sherlock began cutting at his legs and arms. More nurses and orderlies tried to approach him. He pulled the scissors up to his throat. "DON'T COME CLOSER I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL DO IT. I'LL FUCKING DO IT!" his voice cracked. John pushed through and yelled at them to stay back before turning to face Sherlock himself. "Sherlock, can you hear me? It's John. Please, listen to me, okay?" 

Sherlock's flaming eyes snapped down to where John stood. He blinked quickly. He seemed confused but never let the scissors fall from his neck. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" he cried out.

"I want you to put the scissors down. I want you to listen to my voice and know who I am and put the scissors down Sherlock." John's voice grew desperate. "Sherlock, please. Please, look at me. It's John." 

Sherlock slowly lowered the scissors but kept his defensive position. "John, they're trying to poison me, trying to kill me! You left and they came after me!"

"No one's trying to hurt you Sherlock, we're here to help you."

"HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW?" he screamed and turned away. 

John swallowed. His heart was shattered and he wanted to say all the things he hadn't been saying for over a month.  _I miss you, I love you, I need you, please let me come back to you and everything will be okay._ He knew that wouldn't work. He knew Sherlock was in a different world.  

"Doctor Watson, we need to get him down." Said a voice from behind him. He turned and looked at the nurse. He knew she meant by force. John turned back towards Sherlock in a ditch effort. 

"You know, I've been meaning to tell you they caught the killer in Detroit." he said sadly. Sherlock turned his head ever so slightly. This gave John hope. He was listening. He was connecting with reality. The hospital staff looked at each other in confusion at his words. "Just like you said, too. It was the aunt. But they still can't find the murder weapon." Sherlock's fast breath slowed to heavy breathing. "They didn't look in her daughters car..." Sherlock swallowed. "John, they're trying to kill me." he whimpered. The blood stains on his clothes were getting bigger. He will need stitches this time. 

"I won't let them hurt you."

Sherlock warily eased himself down from the bookcase and walked over to John slowly. His knees gave out and John caught him but couldn't keep them both up. John held him to his chest, just like before, and rocked him back and forth. The hospital staff stared on, waiting for the signal to take Sherlock to the ER. Finally, Sherlock sat up and his eyes were back to normal. His expression that of a man who had been broken. He looked... tired. John held Sherlock's face between his hands. He wanted to say everything but could not find the words. He imagined his eyes said enough because Sherlock looked back with the same expression. Nurses and doctors looked at one another, curious about what they saw before them. John remembered their presence and let his hands drop before nodded to one of them, who quickly came to scoop Sherlock off to the ER. 

John sat on the floor for ten minutes after everyone else had left. 

 


	5. Scabs

Doctor John Watson must have been a sight to see. He sat on the linoleum floor, stains of another man's blood on his clothes, staring at the smudges of the same blood on the floor. Hand prints, shoe prints. He felt numb. This was Sherlock's blood and it very well could have been his fault. He looked down to notice his hands were shaking.

 

"Doctor Watson?" a soft voice spoke from behind him.  John was startled and he turned to see an orderly, Candace O'Brien looking at him in a way she never had before.

"Yes, Candace?" he whispered.

"Maybe you should get up and change your clothes. We need to clean this up as soon as possible."

"Yes... alright" John struggled to get to his feet, sounding more aged than he was.

"Doctor Watson" Candace had a question in her eyes. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes"

"What was all that about a killer in Detroit?"

"You know I can't tell you. Doctor/patient confidentiality. Let's just be thankful it seemed to work." John turned to leave.

"Well, what about the face, then?" she asked after him. John could hear the nervousness in her voice. He turned back to look at her. "You held his face and you... looked at him. Like. You _looked_ at him."

John clenched his jaw and swallowed. He was so tired.  "Good night, Candace." he said over his shoulder, and walked away.

**  
  
**

Sherlock traced the patterns of the old wall paper with his finger. He couldn't sleep and his bed felt so cold. The stitches on his body were sore and all he wanted was to freeze there in time. Mycroft was flying in tomorrow and he was not prepared to deal with his questions. He pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and started to recite the periodic table in his head to distract himself from the pains in his flesh and in his heart.

Sherlock's mental games were interrupted by the sound of a key unlocking his door. He shot up in his bed to see a familiar figure slip into the room and lock the door behind him. The figure turned to reveal the face of his old doctor.

"I'm sorry to bother you, I would knock if I could." he whispered into the dark. He could make out Sherlock's form in the darkness and he could see his eyes. "I just wanted to check up on you. I couldn't sleep without knowing.-"

"You drove all the way back out here from your home." Sherlock stated rather than asked.

"Yes." John still stood with his back against the wall.

"Come in, then."

John walked over to sit on the edge of the bed Sherlock was in. He could not look at him. "So, are you doing okay?"

"Yes. I had forgotten to take the medication is all. "

"How are your stitches?"

"Mildly painful, mostly annoying. Why are you here?"

John smiled sadly. So blunt. "I don't know." John started to say. "That's a lie. I miss you. Today made me realise how much." John sighed and found the courage to look Sherlock in the eye. "But it also made me realise that you really do need help and you really are ill. I'm just not the person who should be healing you, not with my feelings towards you."

Sherlock felt a surge of warmth in his chest hearing that John's feelings still remained. "Well, you aren't the one healing me right now. Dr. Raymond may be... ridiculous but he is genuine. I do not blame today's incident on him. And I do not blame it on you either."

John nodded. "Thank you."

Silence lingered in the air. "I've missed you too." Sherlock finally spoke.

"Have you or have you missed the tablet?" John tried to joke.

Sherlock raised the corner of his mouth into a half smile. "Definitely you."

John chuckled and let himself get lost in Sherlock's eyes. They were not ice, anymore. They were soft and sweet. John bit his lip while observing Sherlock's face. He realised how the moment had changed tones, he could feel it in the air. Sherlock leaned in but stopped halfway, letting John make the decision to close the distance between their lips.

He did.

The kiss was a drink of water after a walk in a desert. The familiar taste of Sherlock on his lips was enough to make him whole again. He dared even farther to rest his hand on the back of Sherlock's head. Oh, those curls. They wrapped around his fingers immediately, hugging him. Sherlock made a noise under John's lips that made him melt. He felt heated, hungry. Sherlock kissed him back with the same desperation. Without thinking, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock to pull him in tightly to his chest. Sherlock let out a cry of pain and John released him. 

"Oh, Christ. The stitches, I'm so sorry." he pleaded. 

"Not a big deal." Sherlock went to return to the kiss but John turned away.

"I can't think of a more appropriate metaphor for this relationship than me harming you with my affections" John laughed without humor.

"Don't be dramatic. It's fine."

"No, it isn't Sherlock." He turned to face him. "Nothing is fine. I'm not fine." he feeling his throat close up. 

Sherlock raised his hand to John's scruffy face. Hadn't shaved in a while. He's in a bad way. "We don't need to figure this all out tonight, Doctor Watson." he said in his baritone voice. "Let's just have tonight for us. We'll figure out in the morning."

"How many times have we said that before?"

"You have my word." He said with finality. "But, please, let me have tonight to just be here with you. To forget." His voice trembled. He needed to be comforted and that made him feel ashamed. John sensed this. He let the tension in his shoulders fade and nodded his head slowly. 

"Alright. One last night of pretending." He laid his hand on Sherlock's very gently. "As a Get Well Soon gift". 

Sherlock, in all his lanky-thin glory, crawled over to sit on John's lap. John took him into his arms and was careful to rub his back, where he knew there were no wounds. Sherlock could get high off the scent of John Watson. He nuzzled his face into John's collar bone and breathed. The strong arms around him made him feel like the safest person in the world, even from his own mind. John was very attentive to how he held Sherlock, who seemed to tremble in his arms. John looked down at his face to find him tearing up. He rose his hand to catch a tear before it fell. 

"Hey, now. What's all this about?"

"Decompressing" he spat out. His hands started to tighten on John's clothes. He rested his cheek on Sherlock's curls. They sat there that way for minutes until Sherlock seemed to get it all out of his system. "Doctor Watson?" he whispered.

"John" he corrected. 

"John," the word felt like a melody leaving his mouth. "Since this is our last careless night, before we have to make decisions tomorrow, I wanted to make sure these words were said-"

John tensed up. He didn't want to hope for what the next words out of this beautiful creatures mouth would be. Yet, he found himself on edge. 

Sherlock turned his face up to look at John in the eyes. He took a deep breath. "I love you." 

John closed his eyes at the words. He felt a wave of emotion run over him. "I love you too." he whispered, opening his now watery eyes. "Jesus, do I love you." Sherlock leaned up to kiss John all over his face to stop any wayward tears. Sherlock's soft lips on his cheeks, his temples, his eyes, felt like welcomed rain drops. John ever so gently adjusted their position so Sherlock was lying underneath him. He carefully pulled off Sherlock's clothes and meticulously kissed the flesh between the stitches on his abdomen. Sherlock rested his hands on John's strong shoulders while he laid paths of kisses on his skin. Finally, John made his way back to Sherlock's lips. John hovered over him as to not touch his injuries, allowing Sherlock to decided their proximity. He raised a leg to wrap around John's waist and pull his hips down to his own. They felt their erections grow together. Sherlock pulled away from John's mouth. 

"I have the lube. You left it here last time." Breath was precious commodity, not to be wasted with many words. 

John nodded. "You top. I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock considered arguing his fragility but instead nodded in agreement. He reached over to the in-table drawer to pull out the lube. John pulled off his clothes and rolled over onto his back, resting his hands behind his head. Sherlock knelt between his legs. What a sight he was. "Brilliant" he whispered and John rolled his eyes with a smile on his face. 

Sherlock slowly stroked John's dick to tease him a bit. John's hips wiggled under the touch, taking in a sharp breath. He prepared John's arse and then his own cock before gently pushing himself in. He leaned over John, who reached up to hold Sherlock's head between his hands. Sherlock's thrusting was rhythmic and smooth. He bit his lip. He wasn't sure how long he could last inside of John. His John. His hands held John's hips as he slid in and out, making John moan. 

"Faster?" he offered. Sherlock did as told and John reached down to his own hard cock to stroke it. John felt it built in him quickly and was cumming before too long. He trembled and moaned while Sherlock was deep inside of him, taking him to orgasm. Sherlock was thankful he was not the first, but he soon followed. "Fuck, John. I love you." He repeated while emptying himself into him. He fell exhausted on top of him, the sweat and intimacy making him feel warm and uncaring of the seamen between them. John reached up and played with his curls. It was near heavenly. He started to drift between consciousness and unconsciousness. 

John was fighting the darker thoughts that threatened to plague this beautiful moment. He must not think about tomorrow, not think about what decisions he has to make. He felt Sherlock's breathing change on his chest. 

"Don't you fall asleep, now."

" 'm not." He mumbled. 

"Yes you are."

Sherlock shifted. "Don't go."

"I have to at some point tonight. They can't know I came back."

"Who cares?"

John sighed. "Just one more hour and then I really do have to leave. I can't wake up here."

"Fine." the muffled voice responded. John rubbed his back to comfort him. He was no happier at the idea of leaving than Sherlock was. For a hot second the idea of taking Sherlock with him, breaking him out crossed his mind. He immediately shut it down. What a completely selfish and dangerous notion. He needed to be here. But did John?

The hour passed faster than John expected. He gently rolled Sherlock off of him and stood up to get dressed. He watched the gorgeous figure that was Sherlock Holmes sleep. He could be such a terror when he was awake but right now he was stunningly beautiful, like a marble statue. John felt his chest tighten. No matter what would come of tomorrow, he was lucky to even get a second glance from this enigma, this angel. John finished dressing and leaned over to kiss Sherlock's sleeping lips. "I'll see you tomorrow." He whispered. Sherlock opened his eyes slightly and wrapped his arms around John to pull him into a proper kiss. "Still love me?" the depth of his voice was intensified with his sleepiness. It threatened to give John another erection. "Always." 

It was painful to pull away from Sherlock but he managed it. John may have been filthy and dressed in old clothes but he felt amazing, even hopeful as he carefully shut the door behind him and locked it up. Maybe the future wasn't a dark cloud but an opportunity? The idea left as quickly as it came as John turned around to face the shocked and confused face of Candace O'Brien. John froze in place. He tried to say something, but no words moved from his lips. He was a deer in headlights. He felt her eyes look him up and down in his disheveled clothes and hair. Her nose twitched.

He smelled of sex.

John turned on his heel and briskly walked away before it turned into a jog. He wasn't going to look back for the life of him. Candace stared after him as conclusions began to draw in her head. 


	6. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much anticipated ending of this story! Sorry it took so very long to finish it. But it's here and I'm going to start working on the next.

It was incredibly damp out. Not raining, yet everything seemed to be wet anyways. The condensation on the car window started to trickle as they fogged up. John had been sitting in his car for ten minutes now, making himself late. He couldn't bring himself to move. His hands seemed frozen to the steering wheel and he only stared at the fogged glass in front of him.

 She saw him. She saw him coming out of Sherlock's room in the middle of the night, smelling of sweat, lube, and cum. Candace was a good person, a good orderly and he knew should would do her duty and alert his supervisor. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Poor Sherlock had no idea.

 John was finally able to pull himself together and leave his car. The door slammed shut behind him and it sounded like a guillotine falling. He walked through the halls and everyone was staring. Nurses, other doctors. Some with gossip in their eyes, others with disgust. Word sure does get around fast. John kept his head down and walked swiftly to his own office. He opened the door in haste to find someone sitting across from his desk. It was his supervisor and the head doctor of the facility, Emile Downey. She was a middle aged woman with dark eyes and a navy skirt and blazer. He had always respected her and she had always been warm towards him. But now she looked at him with analytically eyes and a frown. John slipped in and shut the door behind him. He slowly made his way over to his desk and sat down. The silence lingered but for a moment before she spoke.

 "I'm sure you know why I'm here."

 "Yes."

"And I'm sure you realise that you will be put on suspension until the board can have a hearing for you?"

 "Yes Ma'am." He glanced up from his hands to look at her in the eye. "Would it matter if I tried to tell you that it's not what you think?"

 "I'm not here to judge, John. I'm here to do my job, which is making sure my staff cares for the patients." She fidgeted in her chair. "You know, in the States, you could be arrested immediately on charges of sexual assault. You should be thankful that you have an opportunity to state your case before we call the police."

 "I realise that."

 Her eyes were hard and her jaw tight. She had many words swimming in her brain, John could tell, and was considering saying them. She must have decided against it. She stood up and straightened her jacket. "Your hearing will be two days from now at 9:30 A.M. in the conference room. You are not to be on the campus until then so please see yourself out as soon as possible." She turned on her heel.

 "I don't suppose it's at all possible for me to see him?" John ventured. He heard his own desperation in his voice. She slowly turned back to face him, her eyes now aflame and fury evident on her face.

 "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

 "I just want to make sure he's okay."

 "There is no way in hell I'm allowing you anywhere near him until the hearing and if I find out you've tried to get to him, I'll-"

 "I love him, Emile." He stated. "I know you don't believe me, but I truly, truly do. And I hate myself for it but no matter how hard I try, I can't change it." his voice cracked and he would have been embarrassed if he wasn't already mortified for other reasons.

 She was completely still for a couple seconds before she let her shoulders fall. "Christ, John." she held her forehead. "I can't. I just can't let you see him."

 "I understand." And he expected as much. He packed up a few of his things and left his office. Dr. Downey walked him to his car and told him that his other patients were taken care of. He appreciated that.

 

 

Two days came and went. John's knee bounced under the desk he was sitting at. The chairs across from him started to fill up with people he didn't know by their faces, but the names were familiar. The higher ups, of course. They didn't look at John ask they exchanged pleasantries and sipped their coffee. Emile Downey entered and sat to the right of an older man, his place card indicating his name to be Doctor Herman Mason. No doubt her superior.

 Finally, the hearing began with Mason. "Doctor John Watson, you have been called here today due to the accusations of having sexual relations with one of your patients." his voice sounded bored. "That patient being Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who had been diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. Do you admit to having sexual relations with Mr. Holmes?"

 "Yes."

"When in questioning, Mr. Holmes also admitted to the affair. However, he claims that it was completely consensual. Mr. Holmes being of unsound mind and heavy bias, we have chosen to use this hearing to examine the validity behind this claim of consent, and to proceed accordingly with the punishment. Firstly, we would like to hear the testimony of Ms. Candace O'Brien..."

Candace entered the room and sat at the head of the table. She said everything exactly as it happened, from the incident in the common room to catching John coming out of Sherlock's room in the middle of the night. John couldn't hate her, he would have done the same exact thing. More than anything John was feeling utterly numb to everything. It just seemed too surreal. His chest felt hollow.

"Thank you Ms. O'Brien," Doctor Mason spoke as the rest scribbled in notebooks. "You can leave now, and please let in Dr. Aaron Raymond." Candace got up and made eye contact with John. He expected to see the same judgment and disgust he saw in everyone else's eyes but no. It was still that same expression of careful pity. He gave her a weak smile. Candace was a good person.

 The flamboyant Dr. Raymond came in and sat where Candace had. Dr. Mason spoke "Dr. Raymond, you are the current doctor to Sherlock Holmes, correct?"

 "Correct."

"And Dr. Watson was his doctor before you?" 

"Also correct."

"What was the official reason for the change?"

"I was told it was due to time conflicts Dr. Watson was having." Dr. Raymond sounded incredibly strange in this serious tone.

"Were you aware of any relationship between the two?"

"None at all."

"Would you say you've been working with Mr. Holmes long enough to accurately speak on his behalf?"

"I would."

"Would you say that Sherlock Holmes had shown any signs of being sexually assaulted or abused?"

"None, whatsoever."

"Do you believe the Sherlock Holmes is capable of having healthy, adult relationships?"

"Sherlock Holmes's condition is very severe but I have seen no impact on his mental capabilities concerning relationships. He is a very... strange man but I do not believe he is so unsound of mind that he has been taking advantage of.” Dr. Raymond glanced at John. “In fact, I would consider his having a relationship to be a healthy progression. The only complication would be how the two met. If they had begun this relationship by meeting online or at a bar, it would be a near breakthrough for Mr. Holmes.”

The board shifted in their seats. John was every bit as surprised by the testimony. He wondered how much Sherlock Holmes had told Dr. Raymond in the following days of their last meeting.

“Thank you Dr. Raymond. You are dismissed.” Dr. Mason took a sip of his coffee. “Please bring in Sherlock Holmes.”

John fidgeted in his chair. He didn’t know they would bring him in for testimony. He felt something lurch into his throat. He hadn’t seen Sherlock in what felt like months, even though it had just been days. Sherlock was led into the room by an orderly. He strode across the room to the chair where the others had sat. When passing John, he gave him the slightest wink. John wondered if anyone else saw it.

Sherlock sat down and crossed his long legs. He looked at ease. Doctor Mason began.

“Sherlock Holmes, when were you admitted into this institution? “

“Last February.”

“And how long after that did you and Dr. Watson start your sexual relationship?” God, he really took the poetry out of the whole thing. His clinical terms felt wrong when describing John’s love life.

“A couple months.”

“Who initiated the relationship?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was getting increasingly bored and frustrated at this whole situation. They had taken John from him. “It was mutual.” He spat out.

“Did you ever feel as though-“

“As though I had been taken advantage of? I have been asked that same question nearly thirteen times and I always give the same answer: Of course not. I’m mentally ill, not stupid, Dr. Mason.” John muffled his laughter at this and the corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched at hearing it.

“Mr. Holmes-“ Emile Downey started.

“Oh, Dr. Downey. I see you’ve been up all night. You’ve got bags under your eyes large enough to use for a holiday abroad. I assume you were going over the notes for today’s case but, by the looks of it, you had a little help from Jim Beam. Careful with that habit Doctor, it’s a hard one to break. And what about you Dr. Mason, your coffee is a little bitterer than you prefer it. Must have run out of sugar at coffee shop near your house but you were already running late, weren’t you? You had to drop off your dog at the Vet, I can see by the hair on you coat. Little guy’s been vomiting quite often, hasn’t he? Shame. “

“That’s enough, Holmes.” Emile thundered. “We already know about your intellectual prowess, that’s not why we brought you here.”

“Then why did you bring me here? To parade me in front of Dr. Watson, to shame him? Maybe if he sees his partner in this ‘sexual relationship’ sitting in front of his peers looking weak and sick he would realise the gravity of his actions? I’m sorry to disappoint you, doctors. I am sick but I am not weak.” The room was silent for a few moments too long. Emile Downey was pinching the bridge of her nose. Finally she looked up.

“What are you feelings towards Doctor Watson?”

Sherlock was hesitant. “That’s incredibly personal, isn’t it?”

“Are you refusing to say because you are scared to make a claim while he is in the room or-“

“Of course not, don’t be daft. I have very deep romantic feelings for John Watson. Happy?” he snapped.

“I think we’ve heard all we need from you, Mr. Holmes. You’re dismissed.” Said Doctor Mason. Sherlock got up and walked towards the door from which he entered. He looked at John and rolled his eyes, this time not caring if anyone saw their interaction. John scoffed. Typical Sherlock.

“Dr. Watson, if you will sit in the chair please.” It was his turn to answer questions now. He got up and walked right to the chair. He was shockingly calm. The fate of his career, his life hanged in the balance and he couldn’t bring himself to care a whole lot about it. He could easily be sent to jail for this. That would mean never seeing Sherlock again. He was so exhausted.

“Can you collaborate the details of Mr. Holmes testimony?” Asked Mason

“Yes. It was all true.”

“You’re record shows that you have never been reprimanded for these kind of actions before. Has there ever been a similar incident to the current one concerning the relationship between you and one of your patients.”

“No. Never.”

“Then why now? “

John rubbed his neck. “It wasn’t a matter of when.” He was frustrated. “I never expected this to happen. I never planned for this to happen, okay?  I fell in love. I fell in love with the right person at the incredibly wrong time.”

“What compelled you to take action on your feelings?” Dr. Mason seemed more interested now, but only marginally.

John sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I’m weak. I knew the entire time it was wrong. I hated myself because I couldn’t /not/ be with him. Not just sexually but romantically. I was weak.”

“Do you feel any remorse for what has happened?”

“I do. I feel remorse for Sherlock. He wasted time with me when he should have been in the process of counselling. I set his healing back and that is unforgivable. I am not sorry for falling in love with him. It’s the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Take that as you will.” John was done. Completely and utterly done. Dr. Mason sense this from his tone.

“Well, even though that was a very hasty hearing, I feel as though we have enough information to consider. We will now adjourn to discuss the circumstances and the result of our decision. Please wait in the lobby.” John stood up walked out of the room, his feet dragging. It felt so surreal.

 

Ten minutes passed. Thirty. An hour. Finally, he is called back in. He across from the long table of people who hold his fate in their hands. Dr. Mason cleared his throat. “We have discussed and examined the information presented to us thoroughly and we have come to a conclusion. In the case of Sherlock Holmes’ ability to consent, we’ve agreed with Dr. Raymond that he is of sound enough mind to have a relationship. This means that we do not consider your actions with Sherlock Holmes sexual assault and therefore will not alert the authorities.” John’s shoulders collapse. He was thankful and relieved. Dr. Mason sense this, too. So he continued. “However, we do still consider your relationship with Mr. Holmes inappropriate in terms of professionalism in you field. You direct broke the rules and regulations of this institution by carrying out this illicit affair. Therefore, we are terminating your employment. You are not allowed on the campus unless it is during designated visiting hours. Do you understand the ruling that has been made against you?”

John nodded quickly. “I do, sir.”

The people around Dr. Mason started to get up, mumbling as they did so. “I hope you also understand how lucky you are, John.”

“Yes, sir.” John didn’t move and Dr. Mason watched him as he got up and left. One of the orderlies was about to go to him, to usher him out, but Dr. Mason rested a hand on the orderly’s shoulder, and shook his head. They both left the room, leaving John Watson alone. He sat there, leaning on his knees for minutes, considering the hand he had just been dealt. It could have been so much worse. He was thankful for Dr. Raymond and Candace. They were good people.

The door started to open and John quickly turned to it, expecting the orderly to be the orderly come to take him out of the building. But no, it was Sherlock. Standing tall and looking victorious. He shut the door quickly behind him, mirroring John’s actions from the many nights they had spent together.

“What are you doing here, Sherlock? You’re going to get us both in more trouble.”

“I doubt that since Dr. Mason was the one that told me where to find you. He said something about it being ‘our little secret’ and that I need to be ‘careful’.“  Sherlock strode over to sit next to John, a chair between them. “So you’re not going to prison. Congratulations.”

“Yeah but I am unemployed. I can’t imagine how hard it’s going to be to get a job after this.”

“You’ll find one.” Sherlock said looking away. A silence lingered between them. “Listen, John. “ Sherlock began. “As you know, I still have to be here for another year still. I don’t expect you to put anything on hold or wait for me. I know that-“

“Shut up.”

“…Sorry?”

“You are simultaneously the most brilliant man I’ve ever met and the dumbest.” Sherlock looked like he was deciding between laughing and feeling horribly insulted. John laughed for him before reaching out to rest his hand on Sherlock’s. “I’ve given up everything for you already. Do you really think I am going to throw away all this sacrifice now?”

Sherlock shook his head slowly. “I’m just giving you an option.”

John scooted over to be closer to Sherlock, slowly taking his head into his hands and kissed him gently. “There has only ever been one option.” He whispered. Sherlock’s skin tingled. He wondered if John would ever stop having this effect on him. They kissed and held each other as tight as they could as long as they could. John felt as though weight had been taken off his shoulders.

“Still love me?”

“Always.”

One year later, John stood in the lobby of the mental institution. In this very same room he used to come talk to patient’s families and try to explain to them what was going on in their loved ones lives. It didn’t feel like a year ago in that regard, but it felt like a decade since he as last able to hold Sherlock in his arms at night. They’d write and he’d come to visiting hours as much as he could. He’d been working chaotic hours at the University. They’ve got him teaching night classes right now. He was lucky he was still working in his field.

But he was standing in the lobby with a different intention than all those times he’d come to visit in the last year. This time was clouded with dread of having to leave too soon. This time he wasn’t constantly worrying about how Sherlock was doing or how his newest doctor was treating him. No, this time, he was taking Sherlock back home with him. Finally. There was a whole other layer of anxiety plaguing him, however. Something heavy sat in his pocket. A black box. Small and simple. For John, there has only ever been one option. Now he was about to ask Sherlock about his options. He fiddled with the box in his pocket. He hoped Sherlock would pick his option.

 

Sherlock turned the corner with eager eyes, scanning the room until they fell on John. He looked just as angelic and alien as the day John first laid eyes on him. He was inhuman in his beauty. John was starting to reconsider his question. There was no way he could ever dream of keeping him now. He was free and would find someone to match his ethereal being. Sherlock made a b-line for John.  John smiled at his approach.

“Hey, you-“

He was cut off by Sherlock’s lips on his mouth. They were hungry, excited, and relieved. Sherlock held John’s face between his palms and kissed him with such ferocity one would think John was keeping him alive. And in a way, he was. People were looking. Sherlock didn’t care. He finally ripped his mouth away and looked down into John’s eyes.

“Take me home. Make love to me. Then give me that damn tablet.”

John started to giggle. “Yes, sir.” All his doubts were wiped in one fell swoop and he felt endlessly more confident about the box in his pocket.

 

 

They were engaged that same night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would love some productive feedback to help me grow as a writer! If you see any mistakes in grammar, spelling, or using Americanisms where British words are due, kindly let me know so I can fix them up. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


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